Rare Clichés
by Conigliomannaro
Summary: And it all seemed to pour out, all the anger, the self loathing, the pain, the fear. It all poured out until all that remained was just a too tall ginger freak kissing the prince of the Upper East Side under a black, starless sky. AxelRoxas oneshot.


I wrote this story forever ago (livejournal says it was about 16 months ago) to go with a drawn piece by Millilicious/MilliBayley. She took down the picture a long time ago, but it can still be seen on my Lj entry for this story, at the url conigliomannaro . livejournal . com / 56215 . html (less the spaces obviously).

Since it's pretty mild I think it can be over here. **Trigger warnings **go for a slight child abuse in the beginning, the rest of the story is quite tame. In case anyone is afraid of snakes, this fic may not be for you. Nothing extremely major, but they meet in a reptiles shop.

Thank you for your time, and leave me a few words if you please.

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><p>There's something utterly undignified in being born a cliché. Nobody takes banal people seriously, nobody cares for their hurting, people barely notice their cries of pain or need of help; because nobody – nobody – likes being reminded of their existence. They're boring and repetitive, and nothing in them ever sparks interest, catches attention: it's just natural, it's exactly what makes clichés <em>clichés<em>to begin with.

Clichés are common, (that's the very point of being one, right?) are everywhere. Most everybody can be labelled by at least one of them, nobody ever successfully manages to avoid them completely. Only a few people really see them for what they are, and try to avoid being predictable; not all of them succeed.  
>There are some people, instead, that just simply <em>can't help it<em>. Some lives seem to follow a trite script, from the very day of birth to the day of death. Some people are destined to long, never ending series of trivial details, things seen already, done already, played and staged already in too many bad movies, too many bad books. Some people just seem _born_ to be invisible, and have no means to escape.  
>Axel was one of those people.<p>

It wasn't a physical thing, no. His looks were nothing short of uncommon, and if his red hair wasn't enough to distinguish him from the mass, surely the mismatched colour of his eyes – blue and green, skies and meadows – sealed the deal quite well. The problems arose just a few inches behind his looks, under his skin, between heart and brain, between soul and mind. Ever since the day he was born, everything in Axel's life followed the script of a third-rate dramatic movie. Younger son to an alcoholic, abusive, violent man and an old, faded crack-addicted street whore, Axel was the archetype of the abused slum kid.

From the very day Axel was born onward, his nickname had been 'freak'. It was a name that stuck to his skin from kindergarten on, from the first words he can recall in his memories, in and out of the house. The mean, richer kids at school taunting his wrong and ugly eyes were evidently not enough, and once at home, his father mocked his hair, sometimes actually pulling them: _Freak,_ he just laughed, _Freaky brat, the ginger of all gingers. Where is your soul, you little bastard?_Axel cried, shouting and screaming and stomping feet, and even though he knew that Reno was right, and that the mean kids, just like dad, preyed on his anger and his tears, he couldn't help himself. He saw what kids were for, they were meant to be friends with each other; he saw what fathers were for, they were meant to love and protect their children; yet, none of this applied to Axel. The other children were there just to taunt him, and his father, well. In Axel's good dreams, his father died, and never came back home.

Up to his tenth birthday, Axel's only help, only lifeline, had been Reno. Reno was ten years older than him, had been through the same things, knew how to survive. But Reno spent his teenage years bouncing in and out of the reformatories of half the country, and was rarely around to keep an eye on him. When Reno was away, Axel was on his own; and that, that isolation, was just another cliché, wasn't it?

Despite his sad, unfair history, Axel wasn't one to inspire sympathy. He wasn't a good kid, wasn't a well liked one. Axel was rude, coarse, angry, violent; he was a disaster in school, got into fights with older kids, spat at little girls and pulled their braids. The teachers didn't really pay much attention to him when he cried, and Axel, being the skinny little thug he was, always got beaten up so badly that the social assistants didn't know which bruises he had gotten at home and which ones at school. But Axel didn't ask for help, for he had learned soon that people wouldn't care enough to give him any, and things never changed. After all, Axel and Reno were just two little bastards, most likely not even sons of their so-called father; they were probably just half brothers, and when a kid smells like piss and beer at nine am in school, picks fights and backtalks the teachers, nobody really wants to dirty their hands with him. Because it's a bad kid, and bad kids get what they deserve. Happy endings belonged to the blond, cute kids in fairy tale books, to princesses and nice children, to people named 'Ernest', 'John', 'Peter'. Who ever heard of a prince named Axel, or a king named Reno? No one. There would be no fairy with a magic wand solving their problems.

And this was just _typical_.

Still, in the end things changed. After years and years walking around bruised, limping most of the time, snarling at teachers who tried to scold him, Axel had finally found sympathy in the eyes of his third grade's English teacher. Axel's saviour was a woman who smelled like clean clothes and vanilla, who acted like a real mother, who acted like she _cared_; she was young, and beautiful, and had long black hair and a pair of breasts his real mother would have sold her own sons for. She had been good to him, she had helped him, protected him. She was only a young teacher, couldn't really do much for him, but in Axel's eyes, she was the equivalent of a goddess, the only one who didn't yell at him to 'man up' when he needed to cry. When he had found out she was engaged to a dude named Rude he had been crushed, felt betrayed. Tifa, Tifa was _his_, dammit, and it wasn't fair and he hated that bald, mute giant. So what if Tifa was twenty two and he was nine? He would have grown up and she would have been his queen, if given the chance.

But no. Vanilla-scented women don't marry dirty, rude little thugs that pick fights in the backyards and walk with a limp one day out of two. Again, happy endings were for normal people that smelled clean and knew how to behave. Whenever do you find a loud, redheaded hero in fairy tales or movies? The redhead, at most, can be the bad guy.

Axel learned only afterwards that Tifa had been of much more help than he was ever aware. She had asked around, found out that Axel's older brother was in reformatory; she found out that he was almost eighteen, and somehow, she'd heard that he was working in a garage with an old friend of hers. Afterwards, she had sweet-talked Rude into finding Reno a job in ShinRa's motor fleet, and that, that had been the turning point in Axel's life.

After all, good fairies can help even redheaded freaks, it seemed. And that could be interpreted as just another banality, truth be told; but one of the good kind.

Axel was ten years old when Reno was released from reformatory to probation, and from there to freedom. The day Reno came back home, Axel was eating dry cereal on the floor of the kitchen while their mother was somewhere with a customer and their father was watching television from his armchair. Axel didn't even raise his face from his bowl, thinking it was just mum coming back with yet another customer. Mum wasn't a nice sight, when she was high, and he had learned a long time before that if he didn't look at her, it didn't hurt.

"I have a job." Reno had announced in greeting. Axel had looked up from his cereal, mismatched eyes shining in childish happiness and relief because it was Reno, Reno was back, and finally he wouldn't need to sleep alone any more, and it was beautiful, it was amazing. Because when he slept alone and mum was out, sometimes dad came and did... _things_ with him, things Axel was perfectly aware he shouldn't have been doing, because they were practically the same as what mum did with customers. And when Reno was home, dad didn't do those things, didn't hit him. Reno had grown a lot, and even if he was skinny, he had some killer punches and used knives in a wicked way that kept dad at bay. And that meant that Reno, Reno was Axel's very own magic wizard. Reno made all things right.  
><em>And Reno was back and were those face tattoos and oh god Reno was so cool.<em>

"Axel's got a bruise," Reno pointed out coolly, as if the wide, black and yellowish stain on Axel's face could have possibly gone unnoticed. Axel looked down and shrugged, ashamed. Big kids should be able to defend themselves, but what could he have done? Dad was so much bigger, so much stronger. Axel could at most bite and scratch, but when he did it just got worse, after. He had learned soon that, if he just lay defenceless and still, when dad moved towards him, things would pass sooner, and hurt less.  
>Not very manly, nor a brave thing to do, Axel thought.<p>

Their father shrugged. "He tripped and fell," he rasped like it wasn't a big deal. "How much does this new job of yours pay?"

Reno didn't answer. Axel tripped a lot, the same exact way he himself had tripped when he was a child, and not enough time had passed – or would ever pass – for Reno to forget the anger, the fear, the pain. He wasn't surprised to come home to that scenario, but it still made him furious. Because it was Axel, he was so skinny and tiny, and their father was such a spineless _coward_to lay hands on him. "My cash's not yer business, Joe." he answered after a moment, strangely calm. "'N 'm taking Axel with me t'some house without stairs. Trips too often here, yo."

Axel had been clinging hopefully to Reno's jeans in a matter of moments, at those words. _Yes yes yes, Reno, yes, wherever you want, just take me away_.

As expectable, this caused a storm, right there in their living room. Their father jumped on his feet, screaming a rain of insults and profanities over Reno and Axel, and at some point he actually threatened to call the police. "You will leave your brother right here where he is," he snarled, "Or I'll have the cops take you away for kidnapping."  
>At that, Reno just chuckled, suggesting that <em>yes, let's call the cops indeed, and CPS, so they can check the bruises; That one looks like a hickey, ol'man, don't it?<em>

While Axel stared, eyes wide in horror, Reno and their father began to fight, fists hitting cheeks until Reno's nose bled, and Axel's father found himself sitting on his ass while his head spun.

They were in the streets in a matter of minutes, all of Axel's clothes in a couple plastic bags in Reno's left hand and Axel's tiny hand in his right. Everything would be okay now, because he was with Reno, and Reno was his big Wizard, Reno made all things right.

They never saw or heard from their parents again, and what was this, other than just one more cliché? Axel was beginning to be old enough to understand. What would make him unique, if his story was so sadly common in the slums? Were his eyes – could his eyes be – enough to set him apart?

Reno was a pretty good mechanic, and he soon was working his way up, from bikes to limos, and then from limos to helicopters. He quickly became exceptionally good with choppers, and not quite six years he had passed when he became the chief of the mechanics' team. This obviously meant that, from the time he was eleven, Axel had practically lived on his own. Reno left him half of his salary on the counter at the first of the month, and Axel, somehow, managed to stay alive through the weeks that followed by himself. They had moved to a different part of the city, and Axel had a room all for himself with a working bathroom and good things to eat, finally. Reno never really thought much about his brother's diet until he discovered with a twinge of concern that Axel's afternoon snacks consisted of raw, hot red peppers with bread and chocolate. At that point, Reno introduced Axel to Aerith, a friend of his who would become, for the next few years, Axel's caretaker.

People seemed to either know or suspect what Axel and Reno had been through, and so were all uncommonly nice to Axel in his new school. Axel was used to being spat at, bullied, badtalked, and reacted with surprise at any unusual gesture of kindness aimed at him, at first. Then he had heard some of the girls talk about him, had heard their sighs, had seen them _fawning_ over how hard his life had been, and how he had been _so unlucky, poor kid_; and, contrary to what he would have ever thought, he discovered that their pity was almost as humiliating as the mean kids' cruel words. His life wasn't gossp material, and his shame and his pain weren't any of their concern. He wasn't a sad story to sigh and fantasize about, and he didn't want to behave like they seemed to expect him to. They all looked at him with a mix of paternalistic patience and a twinge of sweetness, when he screamed and fought, and their superior concern, with their outstretched hands offering him a help he hadn't asked, burned more than the memories of childish voices chanting _freak, freak, soulless ginger, freaky monster_.

So he began to act. When he wanted to scream, he at most snorted. When he wanted to insult someone, he hid behind years of well practised sarcasm. With time, taken off the exotic side of the deal from people's eyes, he became just the snarky, slightly assholeish kid from eighth grade, the one with strange eyes and a tongue that could drive grown men to tears. At some point along the way, the rough childhood, the nauseating smell of his father's _love_, the memory of his mother coming back all messy from work and the blue purple of the bruises, it all faded; everything remained only as distant memories, almost belonging to another life. He wasn't exactly the most social person around, but when time to leave high school came he had managed to wash away the image of the poor little victim that had accompanied him to the new school, and replaced it with the new identity of a weird dude with weird hobbies and weird eyes. Just that.

It was around the time he turned sixteen that he first came in contact with what would become one of his greatest passions.

He had been strolling somewhere with his high school sweetheart, (if Larxene had heard him call her that he would have probably been in trouble, but he liked the sound of it) when she had stopped walking to point at something behind the glass of a shop window. That, Axel would learn later, was a boa constrictor; it was such a majestic sight, such a beautiful, absolutely breathtaking vision of scales and vertical slitted eyes, that Axel lost his breath.

In the space of two years, Axel had spent more time in the snake shop than in his own home. After graduation, he began to work there, and took a snake all for himself. For the first time in his whole life, Axel felt at home, somewhere. The freaky bastard child of a whore, molested by daddy, had ended working in a freaky shop, surrounded by animals that, according to the cheapest Freud interpretation, were some of the most obvious phallic symbols.

He was following a trite script, and that was the history of his life.

XxXxXxXxXx

Working in the shop, Axel had noticed something amusing: his eyes didn't surprise people too much, in that environment. He was used to kind, well-meaning people advising him that he had lost a contact – '_Thanks, lady, but I'm not wearing contacts_' – or betraying outright astonishment, if not just plain distaste. For good or bad, people had the tendency to stare, or purposefully avoid staring, when they noticed that the colours of Axel's eyes didn't match; but in the shop, when he was surrounded by boas, pythons and other kinds of reptiles, his eyes passed unnoticed most of the time. When people bothered to comment, they normally just said 'Cool' and moved along to asking him what they were there for. Rarely they bought something; mainly, they came to poke their nose around and ask stupid questions.

Axel had seen so many of this type that he could almost smell them from far away. Usually males, jailbait in full rebellious stage, no cash and no parental approval to get a snake, because what parent would ever allow their kids to buy a constrictor? They normally spent their time blabbering about how cool the whole thing was, mistook boas for pythons, gasped in surprise when they were made aware that _yes, pythons are constrictors too_ and had half a seizure of enthusiasm when Axel let them touch a snake because '_hey, they're not slimy!_'. They normally came with friends or girlfriends or terrified mothers, and gaped a lot, wasted his time, and then left, usually never to return.

Not that Axel minded; when he didn't have too much else to do, he usually humoured them. All they required him to do was nod, play along to their enthusiasm and sometimes answer some questions about reptiles. A few of them actually bought something, but normally their families were able to talk them into buying geckos or other 'more harmless' animals. Axel didn't understand. Why would anyone settle for an iguana – for as adorable as some of those proved to be with time – over the splendid majesty of a full coloured and spotted snake?

The kid that slunk inside the shop on that school morning in late January wasn't much different from the others who passed through. He had the same excited, immature expression of wonder as all newbies, and blissfully ignored Axel for a good ten minutes before he even acknowledged him. After the short, skinny, blond haired kid had poked his nose inside each and every vivarium he could, he finally turned towards the counter behind which Axel was sitting on a stool and yawning. The small, surprised jolt that shook him painted his cheeks in a shade of red that had nothing to do with the cold from outside. The kid scowled in reflex to his blush and Axel had to focus really hard to not chuckle at his pout. _Pure_jailbait.

"May I help you?" he asked, admittedly a bit paternalistic.

"I want a snake," was the answer from the little guy.

Axel nodded. "Obviously." he answered. He had seen a lot of kids like him, it was true, but this one oozed arrogance with the same immature aggressiveness that couldn't really belong to anyone over sixteen years of age. He knew that kind. Young, probably alpha males in the making, rich daddy boys seeking something to break their boredom, convinced that their looks or dad's money would grant their every wish.

Axel had to admit the kid was probably among the seven most perfect things he had ever seen in his life, but the emptiness gazing from the blue of his eyes spoiled his perfection completely. Growing up surrounded by dirt and squalor, Axel had learned soon that each flash of beauty was a gift, a memory to hold and treasure for the bad moments that would come after; and the kid, the kid would have been one of these moments, if he didn't look so spoiled. It may have even been the fact that he was pure jailbait, a one way ticket to the darkest pit of hell, right next to his father in the circle reserved for those who tainted children, but Axel had a feeling it was more than that. He couldn't pinpoint what, exactly, but it was something he felt clearly. The kid's perfection, paradoxically, made him _ugly_.

"Shouldn't you be showing me some, then?" the kid asked with the arrogance that just wearing high-fashion clothes can give a kid. Axel was sure that that pretty, angelic face of his had granted him lots of things up until now, but the kid was in for a shock if he thought it'd be working on him.

"Do you have your parents' permission?" Axel answered, sing-song. Every time, the same dance. He asked, the kids babbled something, he showed them the snakes as some sort of consolation, and the kids left. "You can at most buy a gecko, at your age."

"Hey, I'm of age," the small thing hissed out angrily. Axel didn't quite hold back his snicker and gave him a nod.

"Sure you are, kid." he mock-conceded. "How could I not have realized? I'll need to see some ID, anyway, and don't even try with the fake shit you use to buy beer. I used to make those, ain't falling for it."

The kid glared at him through narrowed, hateful eyes and held himself still, outraged. "I wanna buy a snake, not drink it." he muttered after a moment, deflating.

Axel chuckled out loud at that. "Good one." he teased. "But fine, come on over. I'll give you a tour of the shop, at least."

"Will you sell me a snake?" the kid asked with a small and distrustful glare.

"As soon as your dad comes in and gives permission, I'll sell you a cobra." Axel nodded.

The kid grimaced, hatefully muttering something in German about douchebags under his breath, and then blinked. "Y-you're allowed to sell Cobras?" he stammered in shock.

Axel laughed, shaking his head. Definitely not of age, but the kid was less annoying than he had thought at first.

XxXxXxXxXx

The kid came back about two weeks later. Didn't say hello, didn't even look at Axel, just marched straight to the vivarium of the Mojaves. He looked inside it for a while and when he turned, he wore the look of an outraged and disappointed seven year old who was just denied a promised prize.

"You sold him!" he exclaimed indignantly. "You sold him, you sold my snake!" He waited for an answer, but he couldn't help an astounded blink when Axel emerged from the back room with his own python wrapped around his shoulders.

"Whatcha bitchin' 'bout? Haven't sold a Mojave in a month, calm down," Axel hissed. He had been moving a couple boxes and the kid's yell almost made him drop one. Fucking noisy kids and... _Oh, look. The porcelain doll from a couple weeks ago._"You're back?"

"You have a... huge thing wrapped around your neck." the wide eyed kid told him, blinking.

"I am aware of that. Say hello, Anastasia." Axel tickled the underside of the snake's jaw, smiling when it stretched out like a cat and moved towards the kid, who still looked kinda spooked. "Hey, she's waiting for you to say hello." Axel pointed out, "And I don't think I caught your name."

"I'm Roxas." the kid answered, extending a noticeably shaky hand to the snake's face. Anastasia evidently didn't like the movement, and scooted back to wrap around Axel's neck; Roxas jolted away like he had been burnt. "Woah what the fudge! It's a freakin'... You can keep snakes around your neck like that?"

"Golden necklaces can suck my cock." Axel nodded, walking to the big specimens' vivarium and letting his baby back down. "Why? Did you think you couldn't touch them?" he asked; Roxas nodded, walking back to him to observe the snakes in the cage as Axel pursued his lips. "Why did you want one, then?"

"Uh, because they're cool?" Roxas shrugged, and Axel thought he had spotted a slight faint pink tint on Roxas' cheeks with his response. "Because they're beautiful. And because mum would freak, I guess," Roxas admitted. "But really, come here..." he went on, pulling at Axel's sleeve excitedly. "Help me find mine. It's so beautiful. It's yellow. I can't see it anywhere."

"Uhm, a yellow Mojave?" Axel thought for a minute. "I think it might be the one with a bad eye condition. It's at the vet." Roxas' wide eyes and horrified expression a second later made Axel smile a bit sadly. "Sorry kid, but a blind snake is bound to die soon."

"No! Why?" Roxas exclaimed, outraged. There was a lot of childish anger, on his face, and a hint of arrogance; somehow. the porcelain mask was sliding away, and he seemed less dull, more alive. Or maybe Axel had only seen a bit of his own blue in those matching eyes. He just shrugged.

"Snakes eat living prey." he replied. "Technically, they could eat even frozen mice, but many pythons just refuse frozen prey. They can't feed if they can't hunt, and they can't really hunt well, being deaf _and_blind."

As he explained to the kid what, exactly, a snake was, Axel was witness to a small miracle. The sullen arrogance faded, and Roxas' face came alive. He was young, yeah, but not as young as his looks suggested. Listening to Axel's words, Roxas' eyes shone with interest, but not the childish, exhilarated kind that was so typical in the kids that usually came to the shop; the real kind, because Roxas _saw_what Axel showed him, understood Axel's weird love of pythons and boas beyond their shock value.

Roxas came back often in the two years that followed. He came to see 'his' snake, he said, since it had survived with one working eye and seemed to be perfectly able to hunt its prey even like that. Roxas had asked Axel to keep the snake alive for him until he'd turn eighteen, and came to clean its cage and see it two, three times a week. It took him a while to stop being stiff while holding his snake, but after about eight months, it wasn't uncommon for whoever walked into the shop to find Axel and Roxas chatting on a couple chairs, their snakes wrapped around their necks like a couple of scarves.

Roxas wasn't boring, nor was he arrogant or brash as he'd seemed at first. He tended to treat Axel a bit patronizingly from time to time, like Axel was down a lower step than Roxas on some social importance staircase, but Axel didn't really mind: after all, it was true. Roxas would go to some pricey university and become someone, while Axel would end up working in the shop forever, if he was lucky. It was everything he wanted to do in his life, but he could see for himself that there was a huge difference between a businessman or a lawyer and a dude that threw living mice in the pythons' vivaria and cleaned snake shit as a job.

They managed to become friends, somewhere along the way. Axel actually poked his nose in at Roxas' eighteenth birthday party, but a quick glance at the Italian and French fashion suits and dresses floating around on the dance floor made him leave with a dark blush of shame on his cheeks. He had told Reno he'd be out with his friend all night, and Reno became mothering when he saw his brother depressed; Axel ended back in the shop, sleeping off the shame of his ripped jeans and mall-worthy shirt on a pile of boxes.

The next day Roxas came into the shop looking pissed, bitched at him for not even showing up and Axel muttered something about falling asleep on the couch as an excuse. He had to bite his lip to not call after him when Roxas left, slamming the door with all the dramatic rage of a scorned teen prince. After all, it wasn't like Axel could exactly tell Roxas what the problem was, right? And Axel didn't like one bit how much it _stung_ to see Roxas leave like he had. It made him think stupid thoughts, thoughts he _really_ shouldn't have had; especially, after seeing how different their worlds were.  
>The prince doesn't marry the peasant. That only happens in fairy tales.<p>

It took a while for Roxas to come back after that. About a month later, Axel texted Roxas about something being wrong with his snake, and Roxas misinterpreted it, running there like it was a matter of life or death. After Roxas stormed in, scaring the shit out of a pair of kids trying to talk their way into a discount for a couple geckos, Axel fixed a very confused, mismatched stare on him.  
>"What's wrong with Billy?" Roxas blurted out aggressively. There was a lot unspoken in the question, and Axel heard all of it. 'I've missed you', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm still disappointed in you'.<p>

He gave a slow nod, answering with a shrug. "He's refused his food for the last three weeks." he answered. "But you really didn't have to run here like that. I checked his cage and massaged his body every week. He's not constipated, he's just not eating. Pythons tend to do that from time to time. It's not good, but it's not like he's dying."

"Then why the hell did you text me?"

"Because it's _your_snake, maybe?" Axel answered sternly. "Go say hello. I'm trying to sell these guys a gecko."

It took another couple weeks for the snake to accept food again, but Roxas began to visit somewhat regularly again. It was his snake, indeed, and he should have been the one providing for it, not Axel.

Even if they had somehow made up, things had changed. From that point on Roxas seemed more distant, like he had something to say but refrained from speaking for some reason. For all Axel probed at him, Roxas just never, never said what the deal was, and Axel learned to just ignore Roxas' long silences, contenting himself with the fact Roxas came to spend time in the store at all. Sometimes Roxas came in and kept Billy on his lap all day, his snake seeking body warmth and sleeping like a cat all balled up against Roxas' tummy, and Axel could talk all day but wouldn't get any answer.

Other times, Roxas came and talked all day, like he had to make up for the sixteen years he had spent apart from Axel before they met. He talked like he needed to fill in that gap with words, empty and meaningless most of the time, but Roxas-words, therefore treasured all the same.  
>Roxas was beyond Axel's reach again, like he had been at the beginning, but he wasn't dull any more. He had grown taller, had put on some muscle, had lost his kid-chubby face. He couldn't have been further from his old angelic appearance, or from looking like an empty puppet. The perfection was still there, but it was a perfection that stole Axel's breath and made his hands sweat; it was all very different from how it had been before.<p>

As time passed and Roxas approached his nineteenth birthday, his silent days became regular occurrences. Axel grew used to working as if he was alone in the shop again, like Roxas wasn't even there. Roxas just kept his snake on his lap and stared into nothing, hands clenching and releasing every now and then.

When Roxas invited him to his nineteenth birthday party, Axel couldn't meet his eyes.

"Uh, not gonna be there, you know? I have somewhere else I need to be..." he muttered shrugging. When Roxas' eyes narrowed and his blond friend huffed at him, Axel realized he hadn't even opened the envelope to see when the party was supposed to be. Smooth move. "Uh." he muttered awkwardly opening the card. "Sunday, huh. Yeah, can't be there. I have, uh, you know, to open up here on Monday morning."

"You can come at seven and leave at half-past ten." Roxas offered, beginning that passive aggressive act of his as he folded his arms across his chest.

"I don't really think it'd be a good idea." Axel shrugged. "I wouldn't even know what to give you as a gift."

"Screw the gifts, Ax." Roxas stressed, as if Axel was dumb or deaf. "Why don't you just grow a pair and tell me why you refuse to come to my birthday party every time I ask you to?"

Axel wasn't even sure how he could explain himself. He had put himself in a position that could only be resolved if he just spilled the beans, so after a few moments of pointless thought chasing in circles, he shrugged. "Look, I'm ashamed to hang out with your friends." he muttered.

He had never really confronted Roxas for thinking he was better than him. Axel pretended not to hear most of the time when Roxas popped off with something snobby, but this time, no, he couldn't disregard what Roxas said. It was low, really low, because Axel had just opened himself up a bit, and Roxas had only given a small grimace and snorted in reply.

"Shut up, man, gonna be full of freaks. You'll blend in just fine."

It burned. It really did. Axel knew he was being childish, because a man his age doesn't get hurt by something so petty. But it stung badly, because it was what _dad_ called him, and instead he had thought that, maybe, Roxas was different; that he _wouldn't_. He had come to believe Roxas didn't see him that way, even if he had never told Roxas his story. He thought Roxas considered them friends; had begun, lately, to hope for _more_. But Roxas was right, he was a freak of nature, right? Always had been. A mismatched eyed, ginger haired, lanky dude that hung out all day with a snake around his neck in a shop that stank of dry alfalfa and dead reptiles' skin.

Roxas was just doing Axel a favour, spending time with him; it was all like back in the new school all over again, all just a game of '_Oh, poor thing, let's be nice to him_'. Roxas was only awarding him a moment in the sun, and he was just letting the freak out of his cavern for a day, a bit of embarrassment for him and a bit of sunshine for the poor dude. A smelly stain on his Armani themed night, dirt on a Versace. Pity. Coming from anybody else it would have been infuriating, but this was Roxas, so it was just much, much sadder.

Roxas seemed to have realized what he had said when Axel didn't answer, instead handing the invitation back to him and heading for Anastasia's vivarium to let her back in. He bit his lower lip a bit and flushed a guilty red, but didn't apologize. He became defensive, huffing aggressively before pacing after Axel. "Just stop being a pussy, Axel. I can have Cloud loan you a suit for the night if it's such a big deal, and you can just put in a couple contacts to hide your eyes."

Roxas knew as soon as he spoke that he had just made things a lot worse. Against his own will, he felt his mouth open again and say things he really, really didn't mean to say. "What the fuck are you staring at me for? You know it's what everybody notices first, when they look at you. Why don't you wear a pair of contacts to look like a normal human being, instead than throwing pity parties for yourself every time someone stares?"

Axel blinked for a brief second, mismatched eyes widening for a moment in barely concealed hurt before he recoiled and blew up. "Oh, you know what, piece of shit? Fuck off, you and your flawed snake," he snarled back. "I'm through with your fucking 'I'm so much better than you' attitude. Nobody asked you to come here every day and bug the fuck out of me for years, so why don't you just take your fucking Mojave and go home?"

"I did not come here to bother you!" Roxas yelled right back. Billy had gone stiff and balled up in his hands and Axel yanked him out of the kid's grasp, hissing.

"You're fucking hurting him, idiot!" he yelled. "You can damage his spine if you squeeze too hard, goddamnit. As if I never fucking told you." He put the terrified python back into his cage and, when he turned around, Roxas had gone, but the invitation had been left behind on the counter.

There was a strange, uncomfortable silence in the store now. Axel got Anastasia out again and let her sneak under his sleeves like she liked to, and she curled around him, seeking warmth. Axel absently petted her tail, staring in the emptiness. Why didn't he wear contacts, indeed? Because it wouldn't have changed a thing. Because the dirt was _inside_, because it was _him_. This was what he was. His eyes, his freaky eyes, weren't the only thing that made him what he was, but they were a part of it. The eyes of a freak, maybe. But if that was what he was, then so be it.

And yet, the hurt inside made it obvious that he had fallen for yet another cliché. The freak falling for perfection, the beggar longing for the prince, the shadows aching for the light. Again, after so much time, another stereotype. And it stung, like every time before.

Roxas' Mojave had uncurled in his vivarium and Axel stared at it for a bit. A yellow Mojave, "A golden." he murmured. Roxas would always strive for perfection. Even if it was a blind snake, it had to be perfect, beautiful, _golden_. How Axel could have thought, even for a second, that they would ever be on the same level, he really didn't know.

He had been told he was beautiful by one person only, before. Larxene told him often, when they were younger, and he had loved her with a childish, desperate gratitude. Maybe she had him wrapped around her finger, but she liked him, so she gave him meaning, right? Because Axel only existed in other people's appreciation. Axel's eyes acquired a sense only in the reflection of someone else's.

After a whole night lying awake thinking, Axel knew what to do to break this umpteenth cliché.

XxXxXxXxXx

The palms of his hands were sweating, and his throat was closed up like he had swallowed an elephant, but Axel wasn't going to give up this time. He dried his hands on his torn jeans, cracked his neck in place and walked to the front door of the ridiculously expensive looking club downtown, cutting the line and licking his lips nervously. "VIP invitation." he said coolly, handing the card to the men in suits at the door. The taller of the two gave him a confused once over: torn jeans, thong shoes and a wife beater. Not to mention the eyes. This guy looked like the psychotic serial killer in some teen movie.

"I can't let you in like that," he muttered. He had been lectured about a young ginger that was to be let in at any cost, but letting that guy enter in that getup would result in disaster anyway. The daddy boys and girls inside would call security to throw him out in a second, and it'd end being awkward for him first.  
>Surprisingly, the man didn't argue.<p>

"I'll be sitting there." Axel said pointing to a bench in a dark corner of the alley, "In case someone asks." then, he left calmly.

It was just about an hour later that something small and golden marched his way in the darkness, and Axel smiled. Because it was Roxas, and Roxas was angry.

"You could have tried a little harder!" the kid exclaimed outraged when he caught his first real glimpse of Axel's outfit. "At least a pair of shoes and a shirt!"

"This is who I am." Axel answered calmly, despite the fact that his heart was drumming ferociously in his throat. "You don't get to choose and you don't get to change me."

"You just had to _ask_, Axel. Cloud could have given you something to wear."

"Your brother is a midget, and Reno could have given me one of his uniforms, actually. I think they're Italian shit as well." Axel pointed out. "But I needed to make my point, Roxas."

Roxas nodded, and his glare softened to a simple stubborn scowl. He understood, and it was a bit awkward because he knew he should have been apologizing. But he really didn't want to.

"And my eyes aren't ugly." Axel added as an afterthought.

Roxas had a strange reaction to that. He let out a choked whimper, folding his arms across his chest like he always did, but didn't reply.  
>They stayed in silence for a while, until Axel decided he had humiliated himself enough for the night and got up to leave.<p>

"I'll have your snake and his vivarium delivered to you in seven." he said calmly, feeling just a little watery, just a bit unbalanced on his legs as he headed away towards his car. Because he had thought Roxas would apologize, because he had thought Roxas would care, would tell him he didn't think Axel was a freak. But Roxas hadn't said a word other than to criticize his clothes, and maybe Axel had been wrong all along. Maybe Roxas really did believe the things he'd said to him, maybe it hadn't been just an angry slip.

Maybe he _did_think that Axel was a freak.

"Your eyes are beautiful." Roxas called out after him, his voice sounding dull and hostile as it always did when he was forcing himself to admit something he really didn't want to. Axel stopped and turned towards him, merely waiting. Roxas had a strangely hateful expression on his face as he spoke, like his words had a bad taste, like Axel had a bad taste, and everything in general tasted and smelled like shit. A small, perfect, breathtakingly angry nauseated face. "_You_are beautiful." he hissed, managing to sound accusing. "My snake isn't flawed. And you are not a freak."

Axel took a couple steps towards him and Roxas fixed his hateful stare on something to his left.

"My friends. They're all rich. Snort coke, fuck on expensive sheets with expensive whores, look like they stepped out of a magazine. White teeth in white faces, symmetrical features, attractive puppets. I hate them. I _hate_ them all." Axel stopped in his tracks and tilted his head to the side, trying to understand where Roxas was going with his speech. "Nice. Successful. Beautiful. Perfect. _Boring_. They don't shine. They don't shine, ever. They're like plastic glitter. They're just cheap fakes."

"I swear to all the gods, Roxas, I have no idea what you're trying to say." Axel whispered stunned, shaking his head in confusion.

Roxas scowled. "Perfection is arrogant. It's... boring. Dull. There's nothing attractive in a diamond that shines just because it can. You are..." Roxas seemed to be seeking a way to voice his thoughts, but a frustrated snort made it clear that words had failed him once again. "So full of flaws. But in a good way, I mean. Your arms. They're too skinny, but they show off your hands, and your hands are beautiful. And your eyes. I used to think you would have been a beautiful man without those, but now? Don't. Don't. Ever. Wear. Contacts, Axel. Never."

"Are you saying my flaws make me beautiful?" Axel offered. For being the one who went to the super pricey college, sometimes Roxas' grasp on words was poetically loose.

"Yeah." Roxas shrugged. "Last year, when you didn't come. I was so disappointed and I couldn't understand why. Then one time you mentioned that girl you banged in high school, and your eyes got soft and I was angry and jealous because your eyes had never done that for me. And I wanted to kick and scream because I wanted you to look at _me_, and instead you didn't even see me. And I was angry at you. I've been angry at you for a whole year."

"You have a crush on me." Axel said lowly, whispering the words like he was afraid someone would laugh at him for just thinking such a thing. Like Roxas Strife, the prince of the Upper East Side, could ever love Axel Flynn, the freak of nature, the mismatched eyed monster.  
>But the prince of the Upper East Side nodded, frowning harder, like the very thought made him mad. Insanely, absolutely mad.<p>

"You wouldn't look at me, and I hated you. I desperately wanted you to come tonight. Because I wanted to show everyone my best mistake. The most... _beautiful_mistake I would ever make. Because if you showed up tonight despite how stupidly self conscious you are, it would mean something. It would."

"This is pretty gay." Axel pointed out dumbly, unsure if he wanted to run away or close the distance and ravage Roxas against the closest wall. He chose to stay still. Roxas looked like he could bolt like a wild animal at the first wrong move. "But I did show up tonight." he offered.

Roxas nodded. "You are not a freak. You're not ugly."

"I got that."

"You did, but you don't believe me." Roxas accused. "Why won't you see yourself with my eyes? Goddamnit, I could hit you sometimes."

"Maybe it's because you aren't even looking me in the face?" Axel offered. Roxas nodded and swallowed before raising his gaze. He looked up and locked eyes with Axel, and… god. _God_, how could he have ever thought Axel's eyes were ugly?

Axel was vaguely conscious that the perfect little prince falling for the ugly beggar was something he should have called the biggest cliché of them all, but as Roxas moved towards him with that almost desperate needy stare he realized he didn't care. Because he had never really sought anything other than this; this awkward making up after a stupid, juvenile fight in the black alley of a birthday party in which he wouldn't set a foot. This ridiculous, exhilarating feeling of anticipation, of almost frightened hope, that squeezed his stomach, made him sweat in his cheap shirt. And Roxas was coming closer, and it was just _so hard to breathe_.

Roxas seemed taken by a strange urgency as he walked up to Axel; thin hands reached out for tattooed cheeks, and Axel didn't pull away, but didn't lean into the touch, either. Roxas touched Axel's face in a strangely feverish, needy way, lower lip tortured between his teeth before he just tugged at Axel's pointy chin – his irregular, imperfect chin – and kissed him. Roxas kissed him. He kissed him in a stupid, clumsy 'I have no idea what the fuck I am doing' way, and Axel laughed into the kiss, laughter which grew louder when Roxas growled angrily.

The smaller man pushed him forward, until Axel's back leaned against a white wall several steps behind them; he pressed himself against Axel, tugging his face down by the hair to deepen the kiss. After the first awkward clashing of teeth, they finally found a balance, and the kiss grew needy, different, _deep_; breath became ragged, while hands fisted and roamed over cheap denim, over expensive linen; and it all seemed to pour out, all the anger, the self loathing, the pain, the fear, the need to be accepted, the jealousy, the childish possessiveness. It all poured out until all that remained was just a too tall ginger freak kissing the prince of the Upper East Side under a black, starless sky. There were few lights in the courtyard, and it made their features blur in confused shadows to each other, but Axel's eyes shone anyway. They shone enough for Roxas to be able to stare up, urgency in his breath as he spoke with a shaky voice.

"I love you, Axel." he ground out, fisting tightly in copper hair, like he feared Axel would run away from his admission. "I love you, I love you, I love you, don't leave me Axel, don't leave me again, don't leave me. Please. Oh, for the love of God, please."

Axel had to close his eyes at that. Because Roxas' face, pale and confused in the darkness before him, was too beautiful to watch. It hurt inside, somewhere in his chest, in a place that could have been his heart, could have been something else.

And this, this was just yet another cliché; but as long as he had Roxas, such things didn't scare him any more.


End file.
